Sacred, Rooted, Unchanged
by high improbability
Summary: Simon comes to Kurain Village for a channeling.


He's one of three people left on the train when it trundles to a stop at the village's station, and Simon's shoulders tense as the mountain peaks and old houses come into view, the visual reminder of what he's come up here to do. Without thinking, he reaches for the compartment beside his, handing the bag inside it to the old woman who sat across him.

"Thank you," the old lady croons, taking the bag from him. She barely reaches up to his chest, and has to reach up to do so. "It's not often we get an upstanding young man such as yourself around these parts." She peers up at him through thick glasses. "What brings you here? A lucky lady friend of sorts? Ah, to be young again!"

He frowns. "I'm here for a channeling."

Taka squawks indignantly as the train whooshes past them. His companion _tsk_ s, squinting at him. "Haven't heard that in a while. If you insist, sonny."

There's a young girl sitting outside the station, fingers slowly moving over what looks to be a sketchpad. She hurriedly stands up when she sees him, and Simon realizes that this is the younger cousin Athena told him about. Evidently, she recognizes him as well, because her body folds into a hasty yet graceful bow. "Prosecutor Blackquill!" she says, standing up and bowing hastily, tucking the sketchpad into her bag. "Mystic Maya sent me to get you." She turns to his companion. "Chiaki-san."

The old woman positively preens. "A good day to you, Pearl." To Simon, she says, "You seem like an upstanding young man. Have a good day." She bows to the two of them. "I'll be off, you two! Give my regards to dear Maya."

She gives him a little smile. "Shall we depart?"

Taka makes a noise of distress. Although visibly startled, Pearl tries her best to keep her cool, but he notes with dismay that she's shrinking into herself as she looks up at him.

He nods. "Lead the way, Fey-dono." To Taka, he gestures upwards, and the hawk soars skyward, looking at home at the untouched forest and mountainous sky. "He'll come back," he assures Pearl, who's following the hawk's path with wide eyes. "He needs to stretch his wings a little, he doesn't like trains."

"D-does he go everywhere with you? The hawk?"

He does his best to twist his mouth into some variation of a smile, for Pearl's sake. "Yes. If you spend enough time with him, he'll grow to consider your head quite the nest as well."

Pearl nods, determined, and they walk for about a block in silence. He's admiring the mountainside before he absently asks, "Are channelings an uncommon thing, now?" partly out of genuine curiosity and partly because Pearl's intimidation is rolling off her in waves. Simon exhales, tries to loosen his stance, show his hands.

Pearl nibbles at her lip. "There was a time where they were very uncommon," she says, relaxing as they move into familiar subject matter. "After Mystic Maya's mother disappeared, the clan's reputation tanked a lot. Mystic Maya's working really hard to put it back together, and I think she's doing a good job." She glares at him, as if daring him to contradict her.

There's a long pause. In the years before his incarceration, rumors about the Fey clan had consistently dogged the prosecutor's office – murmurings of a murder here, a poisoning there, all under the overbearing shadow that had been the DL-6 case. And that was _before_ the chief had dropped everything and played defense all to help one Maya Fey. Simon doesn't know the details and wouldn't wish to unless someone talked with him openly about it; although the case files are easily available, it feels like intruding on something intensely personal to Wright-dono and the rest of his companions.

"I don't doubt it," he says, finally. Pearl nods again, quieting as they walk down the main road.

They reach the end of the road, his eyes glued on Fey Manor. It's a breathtaking structure, all polished hardwood and lovely gardens done in the old style, smooth stone pavements and towering fountains that Pearl tells him are maintained by a small army of landscapers, and she preens when he tells her how beautiful it is.

"Mystic Maya used to say she never had the head for these things," she says. "But she's grown a lot, especially after everything that went down back then."

He lets himself imagine what Maya Fey would be like – loyal assistant, devoted Master, doting cousin, the kind of woman that could make Wright-dono and the chief drop everything and fly across the world – when an acolyte greets them at the entrance. "Mystic Pearl," she says, bowing low. "Mr. Blackquill. Mystic Maya is just finishing her morning devotions, she will be with you shortly." She straightens. "You can come this way to the Meditation Room," she adds, before moving towards another door.

Pearl bows as well. "Thank you, Lisa," she says, before leading Simon through the doorway. "Mystic Maya and I are the only two people who can channel spirits in the whole country," she admits quietly after closing the door behind her, sitting down on a cushion and watching him carefully as he follows suit. "Mystic Misty – Mystic Maya's mother, she used to get a lot of high-profile people. World leaders and celebrities and the like."

Simon smooths his pants. "I have no doubt Fey-dono can attract the same reputation."

She gives him a little smile again, but it's genuine this time, and he feels a surge of triumph. She quiets, then, allowing him to admire the handiwork on the ceiling, the solid wood of the floor, the soft silk of the cushions – when the adjacent door opens and Maya Fey steps out.

He has seen her image in bits and pieces – photographs at Wright-dono's agency, newspaper clippings, short news broadcasts he'd eagerly waited for during the time Athena was in Khura'in, but none of them measure up to the woman in front of him, all long dark hair, purple cloth, and lopsided smile. "You must be Prosecutor Blackquill," she says, her head bowed, the pitch and timber of her voice carefully measured.

Simon nods slowly. "Fey-dono. It is good to finally make your acquaintance."

Maya Fey _laughs_ , awkward, and he feels all his formalities shrinking away. "No need for any of that," she says, waving a hand. "You're a friend of a friend. Just Maya is fine." Her eyes land on her cousin, and she breaks character, her smile widening. "Hey, Pearly. Go fetch some tea for Prosecutor Blackquill and me, please?"

Pearl claps her hands together, her cousin's appearance clearly having raised her spirits. "Of course, Mystic Maya," she says, before slipping out the door.

He glances back at Maya Fey to see her gray eyes trained on him. "Is this your first time in Kurain Village, Prosecutor Blackquill?" she asks, a clear attempt at comfort.

He nods again. "Yes. Although Athena has told me that it is a beautiful place, and she was not wrong. I always appreciate places that allow me to stay in touch with my heritage."

She blinks, stunned. "Oh! Yes, that's right. You're Athena's…" She trails off, and he finds herself wondering what she was going to say. What does Maya Fey knows about him? What have Wright-dono and the others have mentioned, what has she heard around, what did she bothered to look up when he'd called to say he was coming? Or maybe like him, she'd evaded the knowledge for one reason or another. It has been a year, but still he fears the judgement, and finds that he vastly prefers that possibility.

The silence is interrupted by the sound of the heavy door opening again, Pearl's sandaled feet stepping into view. She's carrying a tray with an antique tea set, and sets it down at the table. "Sorry I took so long, Mystic Maya!" She glances at Simon, and his panic must show on his face, because she turns to Maya, saying quietly, "I'll be outside, all right? Call me when you need me."

Maya nods, recovering her composure. "Yes, thanks, Pearly!" She smiles gently at him once the door closes once more, setting one of the cups of tea in front of him. "You are of Japanese descent as well, I presume?"

He takes a sip. It's some truly heavenly green tea, and he makes a note to ask where the Feys get it. "Yes. Through my grandmother. This place reminds me quite a lot of her estate, back in Nara." He takes another sip, lets himself briefly remember the summers of his childhood, of his grandmother's floral perfume and soft wizened hands. "It is how I met – well, the person I am channeling, she – she was a colleague of my sister. They were in the same Japanese-American circle at university."

She nods knowingly. "Well, we have to stick together." He glances at her hands, and she's procured a photograph out of nowhere. "This is her, right? Metis Cykes." She pauses. "She was beautiful."

"She was." The raw grief that arises whenever he so much as thinks of Metis surfaces at the sight of the glossy paper, of Metis's sharp gaze, her high cheekbones, the lean curve of her jaw, the warm brown eyes gazing at him. She passed on very little of her features to her daughter, but Athena's fire and spirit, her quick wit, her determination to see things through – those are all her mother's, and that, at least, is a comfort. And –

" _I get your desire to inherit your father's name_ ," Athena had said to Geiru that day in court, mouth downturned, but eyes soft. " _But what you should've inherited from him wasn't his name, but his heart_."

 _You have_ , he'd wanted to say. _Name and heart both_.

"Sorry. I went ahead got it from a detective friend of mine," Maya explains, her mild voice interrupting his train of thought. "For me to channel someone, I have to know their face and true name. Someone once said it's like getting someone's attention in a large crowd, y'know?"

"It's all right," he says, and because it feels inadequate, adds, "Thank you." His hands feel clammy all of a sudden, and he tightens his hold on the warm cup.

Her gaze follows the movement. "Are you sure you're ready, Prosecutor Blackquill?" she asks, soft.

Simon takes a deep breath, holds it in.

 _Is_ he ready? Should he even have taken a day off to come here, when he'd given so little warning to the chief and none at all to Athena, who probably deserved to know he was having her mother channeled? What business does he have anyway, disrupting Metis eight years on? What would Aura say if she knew he was here? Will it truly be worth it, bringing up old wounds?

But the heart of the matter is that the world is moving on, past State vs. Cykes and past State vs. Starbuck, and Simon Blackquill is still stuck in the past.

She's still looking at him curiously.

He exhales. "I am sure, Fey-dono. This needs to be done."

"Well, all right, that's that, I guess." She smiles at him, so brief and blinding it takes him off guard, and gets to her feet. "Come on, the chamber is this way." She opens the exit briefly. "Pearl, if you would?"

Her cousin trails in behind her, a glowing artifact in her hands. "This is a Magatama of Parting, to sever the connection if Mystic Maya is unable to," she explains.

The lopsided smile is back on Maya's face. "It's a safety precaution. Pretty sure I can handle it, but I've seen a bunch of channelings go awry, so it always helps to be sure." She places her hand on the heavy iron lock, looks up at the calligraphy above the door. " _Ichi-go ichi-e_ ," she says, her accent lending itself nicely to their language. "You know the saying?"

"One opportunity, one meeting," he replies easily. _Each meeting is to be treasured._ Maya nods, smiles at him knowingly, and steps into the Chamber. He follows her, Pearl closing the door behind them.

The Channeling Chamber is distinctly different from the rest of the manor. Thick incense permeates his senses, and he notes that hundreds of flickering candles are the only source of light in an otherwise windowless room. Ancient-looking artifacts line the walls, and in the back is a large screen with delicate writing.

"It's beautiful," he says, not for the first time that day.

"I'm glad you think so," Maya tells him, sincere. "A lot of these things are very valuable. Let's just say they've seen their fair share of roughhousing." She gestures to a cushion in the center. "If you would sit over there."

He obliges, letting his knees sink down into the soft seat, and she takes the cushion across from him, her hands folded in her lap. "A channeled spirit will retain their memories of life, but won't register the time after their death. Thus, if this is the first time they've been channeled since their death, they'll go right back to that moment." She's looking at him again, and he thinks of that horrifying sight, Metis on an operating bed, Athena's hands trembling –

"Ready?" she asks, one more time.

He lets himself chuckle. "There's no right answer to that, is there?" _Ichi-go, ichi-e_. _One chance._

Maya shrugs. "I guess not. Here we go." She takes a deep breath and closes her eyes, her arms moving towards a prayer position. She does some incomprehensible gesture, and –

Simon blinks once.

Twice.

"–Simon," says a voice, and _oh_ , if it doesn't hurt to here Metis's low, lilting tones. He opens his eyes and nearly gasps – he's undoubtedly still in Kurain Village and not across the district at the Space Center, and those are undoubtedly Maya's robes in front of him, Maya's long dark hair nearly reaching the floor, but –

That is undoubtedly Metis's face looking out at him, her face open in shock, her hand moving to her abdomen.

"What happened? Oh, gods, the last thing I remember, I–" She pulls her hand away from Maya's robes in confusion. "Blood…"

He closes his eyes, grits his teeth. "Metis," he says softly. "Metis, you _died_."

Her hands go up to her mouth. "I – died? But this–" Dazed, she gestures around, appears to register her surroundings. "Is this the afterlife? Where am I?"

"In the Channeling Chamber, in Kurain Village," he explains. "You're being channeled by a spirit medium."

"A _spirit medium_! I–" She focuses her gaze on him, her eyes widening. "Simon, what happened to you?" She moves towards him, and he tells his body not to recoil as her hands move over his face and head.

"These scars – your hair–" She turns her face towards his, the familiar and comforting clarity returning to her face. "How long has it been? Since I…died?"

"Nearly eight." The answer is instantaneous. He would have given her a more accurate measurement, if she'd asked. _Seven years, ten months, twenty-two days._

" _Eight_!" Her voice is calmer now, though, and she's looking at him, gaze furrowed. "Is…is Athena–"

This, now this Simon can talk about. "Athena is doing very well," he tells her, relaxing as relief floods Metis's body. "She's almost nineteen now. She's a defense attorney, with one Mr. Phoenix Wright."

Metis blinks. "The disbarred one," she says, flat. It's not a question.

He nearly winces, the words _dark age of the law_ curling around his thoughts like smoke. "A lot of things have changed since then," is what comes out instead. "Wright-dono was reinstated by the Bar, and remains a stunning defense attorney to this day. Athena is one of his students. She spent some time in Europe, studying to get her badge early. It's probably been a year or so since she got it." He can't help the note of pride that leaks into his voice, and he knows Metis can hear it too.

Metis nods, nodding and exhaling with relief. "With my sister, Rhea. Good, I knew she'd take care of her if it was needed. I fear – I fear I was always distant with her, as a child."

Simon's heart aches, memories of the miserable little girl returning. "She knows, now," he says gently. "I made sure she knew how much you cared for her."

She sighs – if in regret or relief, he can't tell. "Good. That's…good." Her gaze turns shrewd. "And you?"

"I'm still a prosecutor." Truth. "I've actually gone up against your daughter in court. She's a very bright girl, always was." Truth. "She's much more sociable than she was as a child." Truth. "I'm doing well." Questionable.

There's a heavy pause.

"You didn't answer my question," she says, and he resists the shiver that threatens to run through his body. "What _happened_ to _you_?" Metis narrows her eyes, and he can practically see the gears turning in her gifted head. "That day, at the Space Center. What happened?"

 _What, indeed_. Simon frowns. He could tell her the whole story, of seeing her daughter, scared and bloodied, in the center of a room, of having to slice up his sister's robots, of Athena on the witness stand, screaming helplessly, of every scar and wound and mark he got in prison, of every malicious shock that came from his handcuffs, of Athena's horrified face after she saw him for the first time seven years later, of two bombings and finally the harrowing day that he was so sure would be his last, of the final visceral fear that had arisen as Bobby Fulbright pulled off the mask.

But he didn't come here to regale Metis's spirit with ghost stories of his own.

"The phantom wanted the psych eval you and I drew up. He killed you," he says flatly, watching her face for a reaction. She nods, as if accepting. "But he didn't harm a hair on Athena's head or mine, for that matter. He got away, though. But–"

His teacher frowns. "I don't believe you." He cringes. She was always able to see right through him. "They accused her of it, didn't they? Athena. I remember I was waiting for her when – she'd come in every day, always at that time. They would have had to accuse her." Her gaze softens. "Did you take the fall for her?"

Simon grits his teeth. There's no hiding anything from Metis. "I did. I had no choice."

Her face falls, and it breaks his heart. "Oh, Simon. You _did_ have a choice. You, your career, your reputation–"

"No," he says, firm. "There was no other option. I could have chosen those, but Metis, she was _your_ daughter. I had to keep her safe. And I got out. It worked out in the end." Saying it out loud is easy. It's the one truth that kept him going all those years, and now he's able to look Athena's mother in the eye and tell her so.

It's _so_ simple, to him.

Something in his voice must convince her, because she backs down, looking intensely sorrowful, her gaze searching. "But – she's doing well. That wasn't a lie, was it?"

Despite himself, he smiles, as odd as the feeling is. There was never a reason to smile much in prison, but Athena – Metis's light, pride, and joy, Wright-dono's golden girl – that was something to be proud of. "No, definitely not. It's what I came here to tell you. She's still rather green, but I'm confident she'll be a great attorney in the future."

Metis's face cycles through emotions so quickly he can barely pick up on them – relief, joy, curiosity, fear – before she moves, so quickly and gracefully, her forehead on the mat, her arms stretched out in front of her. "I-I don't know how to thank you," she says, her voice muffled by the floor. "But – Simon, thank you. I can't thank you enough, for looking out for her."

Simon's heart clenches at the image of her prone form, embarrassment rushing through him. "Please don't," he says, his head bowed. "It was what was expected of me, and I was happy to fulfill it."

" _No_." Her voice is firm, her hands on the mat trembling. "You went above and beyond. You threw away years of your life for my daughter. None of my teachings can ever be worth that. I owe you – I owe you everything."

There's a short silence.

In prison, he had gotten used to counting down the days before his scheduled execution, had gone about the chief's ordered trials with the compensatory pomp and circumstance of a dying man, slipped into the expected fearsome image with ease. At night, staring up through the tiny window of his cell, at the serial marks on the wall that led down to his doom, he would ask himself – where did the wrongly accused boy end, and where did the incarcerated man begin? Did Simon Blackquill, prodigious prosecutor cum psychologist, still exist, or had Simon Blackquill, prisoner, killed him?

And then, always, even now, a tiny question at the back of his mind – _Was it worth it_? How was it fair that Athena was to grow up and grow old, while Simon languished in prison because of a miscarriage of justice, even as she worked to free him? Would he have been happier if he'd let her take the fall, then walked away a free man?

He had gotten used to squashing down that voice and burying the resentment, letting the news of Athena's growth propel him through the days – _yes, it was_. Of course it was. But now, a ghost from eight years ago kneeling before him and the rest of his life ahead of him, a new question arises – _does that matter, at this point_?

"That's enough," he says, harsh enough that her form startles. "It's in the past, and we must look towards tomorrow. Please sit up, Metis."

It takes some time, but she sits up, her eyes closed. Her tone is contemplative when she asks, voice low and dulcet, "Does she know you came here?"

He shakes his head. "No, although it was she who told me of this place."

"Ah." She looks thoughtful. "Will you tell her?"

"If you wish it." He thinks. "The Feys are close associates of her agency. She may have you channeled of her own volition, whether I tell her or not."

Metis nods, decisive. "Then I think she must speak with me on her own terms, and not because of your influence, no matter how much I appreciate it." She quiets, a smile creeping on her face. "And Aura?" she says, finally. "I hope she – your dear sister, was she able to move on? I'm sure it was very hard for her."

Simon's breath catches, and he closes his eyes, remembers Aura's dismissive tone, her cold glare, her defiant stance as she was arrested, remembers her screaming on the day of his trial, the pain in her eyes when they told her what had happened to Metis.

It's an impulse. "Absolutely," he says, and is surprised at how even his tone is. "She's still with the Space Center. Still building robots. Getting better by the day."

"I'm glad." Her face relaxes. "Simon, I want to thank you for taking such good care of everyone. I can't ever repay you. It will make leaving easier."

He blinks in surprise. "You are leaving?"

"As is necessary," Metis says, kindly. "I wish to stay, and honestly meet and see everyone. Starbuck, Clay, Cosmos – all of them." She fixes her scrutinizing gaze on him, even as he wills his face to stay neutral. "I feel there is more story there, as well. But I have taken up enough of your time."

"It's never going to be enough," he admits roughly. "Athena, Aura, and I – we all wish you were back. In our own ways."

She smiles – one of the rare, full Metis smiles that Aura and Athena had so treasured. "But it's like you said," she says. "We have to look to tomorrow. I can only hope that meeting with me only pushes you forward, my dear Simon. Again, I can't thank you enough."

He glances around the Channeling Chamber. Outside this rich, smokey room, full of ties to the past – there's a village on the cusp of modernization, a bustling city in the valley below, a stern gray building with piles and piles of work. There's Athena's raucous laughter, Prosecutor Edgeworth's proud half-smile, his fellow prosecutors arguing at meetings, the detectives chattering over coffee in the break room. There's Taka, soaring over the skyline, but always returning to perch on his windowsill.

There are things to look forward to.

"Is it over?" Maya murmurs. "Did she leave already?"

Alarmed, he whips his face towards her, taking in her dazed stare and trembling hands. "Metis–"

Maya's gray eyes – yes, definitely her, now – focus on him. She blinks rapidly, touches her eye. Her hand comes away wet.

* * *

They're quiet as Maya leads them out of the Chamber. She looks straight ahead, not asking him questions, something he suspects is protocol despite her fingers twitching, itching to know what went on. Pearl is standing outside, still clutching the Magatama, and slumps against the wall in relief as soon as Maya opens the door. "Oh, thank the gods! Mystic Maya, Prosecutor Blackquill, I trust it went well?"

"It was fine, Pearly," Maya says gently, patting her cousin on the forehead. "Sorry you were worried."

Taka flies in to perch on his shoulder, pecking at his hair affectionately. "Yeah," he murmurs, soothingly. "Sorry I was gone for so long. Thank you for waiting, my friend." His hawk preens, before settling in more firmly.

He turns to Maya, before bowing deeply. "Fey-dono. I can't thank you enough for this service."

"I told you to call me Maya," she tries, awkward again. "It's really no problem, Prosecutor Blackquill. It was my pleasure, helping a friend of Athena's. I can only hope you got what you needed out of the channeling."

"There's no right answer to that either, is there?" He hadn't even known what he'd needed, hadn't gone up here with an emotional goal in mind, but somehow...

She smiles again, wider this time. "No, guess there isn't either."

He looks out the large window. The sun's just beginning to dip above the mountain in the distance, and he makes a few brief calculations as to the time he'll get home. "I must get back to the city, Prosecutor Edgeworth very firmly requested some casework to be delivered tomorrow morning."

"Yeesh, same old Edgeworth." She's grinning. She looks younger, now that the pressures of channeling have fallen away. "Pearly, are you good with taking Prosecutor Blackquill back to the train?"

"Of course!" Pearl pipes up, but Simon interjects.

"There is no need. I can walk back by myself. It's quite a scenic view, it will be good for reflection."

"Hmm, if you insist." She peers up at him, gray eyes inquisitive. "Hey, Prosecutor Blackquill? I know it might be weird, coming from me, but if you ever need to get away from the city for a little while, then you can always drop by. I think you'd like the quiet of the village. Well, it's quite the trip, but – you get the idea."

Simon thinks of the beautiful garden, of the smooth stone, of the polish of the wood, of the trees Taka sits in. _Ichi-go, ichi-e_. He makes a decision.

"I would like that, Fey-dono. I will let you know, if ever I decide to come up. Thank you, again."

She nods firmly, the Master's mannerisms falling away, replaced by something more vivacious and girlish. "Oh! And give these back to Edgeworth for me? I think I've been holding on for them for too long, he might be upset with me." She hands him a satchel full of DVDs, that children's show that always seems to be on air.

" _Steel Samurai Chronicles: 2027 Digitally Remastered Edition_?" Simon says doubtfully, reading one of the covers.

She shrugs flippantly. "Hey, don't look at me. I'm not the one blowing cash on that, he is. Although," she adds, her mouth turning into a mischievous smile. "I'm sure he wouldn't mind if you started watching it, too – y'know, with your whole get-up and all."

" _Mystic Maya_ ," Pearl cuts in, shocked.

Maya starts giggling, followed reluctantly by Pearl, and despite himself, Simon can't help a smile.

There are things to look forward to, indeed.

* * *

 _ **A/N: This fic is crossposted to AO3, title is from Sleeping at Last.**_

 ** _According to the wiki, "Ichi-go ichi-e" is the saying on the sign above the Channeling Chamber. It's a saying associated with tea ceremonies, but the game also uses it in the context of channeling. I don't speak Japanese, nor am I Japanese-American, so if I did a bad with something here, let me know!_**


End file.
